Page 35 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

I’m not a big drinker. I rarely get ID’d at bars back home, and I do like to have a drink now and then. But I’ve probably only actually been drunk twice in my life, and not excessively so.

Belgian beer is much stronger than beer in the US, so it hits me a little harder than anticipated. As we’re walking through the streets of Antwerp, admiring how the old buildings are lit up, and how friendly people seem as they walk by, I’m comfortably fuzzy.

Weston slings an arm around my shoulders. “I’m surprised you haven’t pulled out your app and found a Belgian Daddy to hook up with. Or maybe there’s a club around here somewhere. We can celebrate properly.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I feel Wyatt’s tension five feet behind us.

“Nah, I’d rather keep it quiet this year. Besides, we’ve been working so hard we’ve barely spent any downtime together.”

“Yeah, because every chance you get, you’re running off to meet one of your hookups. Classic Niles,” he chirps.

He has a right to be upset, because he knows I’m keeping something from him. It would hurt me if he were keeping something this big from me. And I’ll be honest, I can’t say I’d react well to finding out Weston was sticking it to my mom.

But I don’t appreciate what he’s insinuating, or that he’s doing it in front of his dad, on purpose.

“Oh my God, do you remember that time you got lost in the city after that competition in Pittsburgh last year? Because you met up with that guy’s uncle who came to watch the competition? And he wanted you to?—”

“Do you remember the time my best friend used to not try to slut shame me in public?” I snap, gritting my teeth in the closest semblance of a smile I can manage. There’s no doubt in my mind that my teasing is coming across just as salty as his.

Weston watches me too closely as I laugh him off and try to distract him by talking about Aimee. His answers are clipped. I suggest one more beer as a last resort to overcome the awkward tension between us.

I wake up sometime in the early hours of the morning with a slight headache. My head still feels a little foggy, but clear enough to know exactly what I’m doing.

Without giving it much thought, I slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Weston. Although after the night we had, I’m not sure if it matters if he’s actually asleep or just pretending. I can’t process everything that happened with him tonight.

I pad barefoot out of our hotel room and to the door next door wearing nothing but the pair of black boxer briefs I went to bed in. My heart is thudding out of control and my stomach is twisted tight.

I knock anyway, soft and hesitant. I’m almost surprised when the door opens.

Wyatt cracks open the door and peeks out, blinking like he’s not sure it’s me standing here. He opens the door wider. He’s barefoot, sleep-rumpled, and bleary eyed. His hair is flat on one side and sticking up on the other. His T-shirt is wrinkled and sheer enough I can see his nipples.

He’s a mess. Half-awake, probably half-annoyed, and fully exhausted from jetlag and stress. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Niles…” His voice is rough, heavy with sleep.

I grin before I can stop myself.

“Want to ring in my birthday with me?”

He stares at me for a moment, blinking like he’s trying to process whether I’m actually standing out in the hall in my underwear, propositioning him at four o’clock in the morning.

Like he’s weighing the consequences. Like he knows exactly what’s about to happen and doesn’t want to be the one responsible for letting it.

Then he exhales and steps aside. The moment the door clicks shut behind me, I’m not wasting a single second of the time we have.

My fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers as I push him back against the wall. His back hits it with a quiet thud. I kiss him. Hard. Desperate. His hands shake when they land on my hips, then slide up my back, pulling me closer.

He lets me kiss him the way I need to, and he kisses me back with equal fervor.

“I need you,” I whisper.

A sound rips out of his throat. Something rough and vulnerable that tells me he needs me just as much as I need him.

We stumble towards the bed, but don’t make it before we’re already pulling at each other’s clothes. He keeps kissing me like he needs my mouth to breathe, like he can’t stop. But it’s deep and gentle rather than frantic like when I first came in.

When we finally fall into bed, he climbs over me carefully. Nothing is rushed. This isn’t something I’m compelling him to do, or something he’s not in control of. Every movement is careful.

His hands find my hips. My ribs. My neck. His lips ghost over my skin. His body presses against mine, steady and solid and warm.

I shake under him.

Not because I’m afraid. Because it feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life. For someone—him, specifically—to touch me like I’m something precious. Not something twisted or a novelty. Not just a toy to play with.

He touches me like he cares about me. Like my pleasure is his only goal in life. Like making me come is an act of worship, and drinking it down is communion.

Like he loves me.

“Wyatt,” I whisper. “I love you.”

In the dim light of the room, I can’t see his expression, but I can feel it.

I can feel it in the thickness of the night air, in the way his breath catches.

In the way he cups my face, whispers he loves me, and kisses me like he means it.

Like all those other kisses before were practice for this main event.

He trails those kisses from my lips and down my body, and worships me until I’m dizzy and trembling.

Tasting my pleasure on his lips is more intoxicating than all the beer in Belgium.

It makes me breathless and needy and buzzes through my veins.

I bring one hand down between us and grip his cock, hard against the inside of my thigh.

I stroke him as we kiss, until he’s leaking pre-cum and moaning into my mouth.

Then I aim him at my core and guide him inside.

He freezes. “Niles, are you?—”

“I’m sure, Wyatt. I want you. I need you inside me. Please.”

He’s practically trembling as I reach behind him and grip his ass, encouraging him forward.

Inch by inch, he sinks inside, careful not to hurt me.

It’s been a long time, but I’m soft and pliant from his mouth and fingers, and slick from how hard he made me come.

It makes it easier to take him with very little discomfort as my body stretches to accommodate him.

I smile against his lips when I realize he’s doing the same things to me that I did the first time I took his ass.

He’s pausing to let me relax, then pulling out and sinking a little deeper with each thrust. He’s gentler even than I was, though he doesn’t need to be quite so worried.

It’s sweet though. Makes me feel cherished.

By the time he’s all the way inside, my hips are rocking against him, desperate for the friction of his body against my cock.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. “You can move.”

His body shakes. Is he laughing?

“I’m doing this for me,” he says, face muffled in the crook of my neck. “I’m afraid if I move too soon I’ll embarrass myself.”

I laugh, too.

“My pussy can’t be that good,” I tease.

“ Mmpf. You ever been inside your own pussy?”

I mean, technically I can push my dick inside myself, but only a little bit. And it’s not the kind of party trick you pull out during a somewhat serious moment like this.

Wyatt pulls out and then sinks back in slowly. He sighs and his eyes roll back, and fuck me if I’ve ever felt so fucking good during sex. So fucking alive. So loved.

“So you like it then?”

He blows out a harsh breath and gives me another soft thrust. Fuck, that felt good.

“You have no idea,” he says. “I like everything about you, and this isn’t necessary for me to be happy. Sex at all isn’t necessary for me to love you exactly as I do right now. But… yeah ,” he says, rocking into me in just the right way that has my cock stimulated. “Your pussy is that good.”

“ Unghh — Don’t stop doing that. Right there.”

The way he’s rocking inside me at just the right angle feels like he’s rubbing my cock from the inside and outside simultaneously.

“If I don’t stop, I’m going to come,” he warns me.

“Do it. Come. Come inside me,” I say through my panting. I want to scream at how good this feels, but Weston hearing us would not help make things feel better.

“ Niles —” Wyatt grunts as he releases inside me. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or what, but I can feel the warmth of his cum seeping inside me, radiating out from my core.

I twist my body and push on his shoulder, and he gets the message to turn over.

We manage to flip without breaking the connection, and now I’m on top, riding his cock that’s still hard inside me.

Everything is soaked between us, including my dick, so I’m able to use that wetness to stroke myself while grinding.

I’m sensitive from coming already and so close to the edge that it takes me almost no time to follow him over the edge into total oblivion.

“ Oh my God ,” Wyatt moans as I clench around him. “Holy shit. I’ve felt this around my fingers but fuuuck— ” He grips my hips and thrusts up inside me.

I’m close to overstimulation, but I know my body. I can roll right into another?—

“Oh, you have to be kidding me—” Wyatt chokes out as my pussy keeps pulsing around him. “I can’t—” he pants, “I’m gonna die—” He’s still thrusting up inside me, though I can tell his cock isn’t as hard, as I finish rocking against him, riding out the last of the aftershocks.

Finally I collapse on top of him, both of us breathing hard.

“That was?—”

“Perfect,” I answer for him. “It was perfect.”

His arms wrap around me, and he kisses my sweaty temple.

“I remember what you said that morning in the treehouse,” he murmurs. “It means a lot that you feel comfortable enough to open yourself up to me like that.”

I snort. He said open yourself up.

His chest shakes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. I can’t help it, I’m basically delirious at this point. I came my brains out.”

“You really did. I didn’t know what was possible.”

“It’s a perk of being trans. My dick might be small, but it’s sensitive as fuck. I can keep going until I’m so sensitive and overstimulated it hurts.”

“Hmm, good to know.” I actually feel him twitch inside me.

“Don’t you dare,” I say, poking him in the ribs. “You can’t use my own body against me.”

“Because you’ve never used mine against me?”

I pause. “Okay, that’s fair. But it would be mean.”

“Seems like a fun punishment, if you ask me.”

“Better not.”

“Better behave.”

We laugh so hard his cock actually gets pushed out of my body, which makes us laugh even more. I wonder if he minds that I’m dripping all of his own mess all over him.

Eventually our laughter calms down, and I have a moment of pure, unadulterated peace. The fun banter and casual humor after the most intense, emotional, life-changing sex of my life is the perfect balance. It’s us.

“Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the only one to ever come inside me. I don’t know why, but I want to let you know that.”

He groans. “Seriously, I cannot get hard again right now. I might actually die.”

He kisses me deeply and hugs me against him. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you,” I say back. “And I trust you. More than anyone. That’s why.”

He holds me like that for a long time, until I’m almost drifting off to sleep.

“Come on,” he says, tapping me on the butt. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

I groan. “But I’m comfortable.”

“You should pee.”

“What? I’m not really into?—”

“Get up, you brat. I read you’re supposed to pee after vaginal sex.”

“Why is it sexy when you get all clinical like that?”

After we get cleaned up and I pee like a good boy, I figure I should probably go back to my own room. It’s not yet dawn though, and I don’t want to leave.

So I stay for a little while longer, and I end up falling asleep wrapped in him.

Happy and safe.

Like nothing outside his arms exists.